The Master Puppeteer
by goldenrhino
Summary: The Goddesses have ordained another cycle. A new game has begun. The fates of thousands lie in the hands of a few...and in those who control them. Those who choose to hide behind the masks may find themselves dancing on the strings of fate.
1. Chapter 1: A New Game

**Hey, thanks for reading this! This is Goldenrhino...and this is my second attempt at any sort of fanfiction whatsoever. The first one ended up not going beyond the first chapter...hopefully this doesn't happen the same way!**

**Anyway, please read and review! If there's any confusion in this chapter, it will be cleared up later...so enjoy!**

**-Goldenrhino**

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><p><em>The warehouse was immense. It's walls seemed to stretch out endlessly, though most of it was cloaked in shadow and darkness. It was filled with assorted boxes and crates that were haphazardly stacked on one another, but a straight path had been cleared through the middle, leaving a hallway-like corridor from one end of the building to another. <em>

_At one end of the hallway there was a doorway, and in that doorway stood a boy. A tall youth, clothed in dark leather armor, with flaming red hair and glistening eyes that burned brightly even on the darkest night. On his left hand he wore a heavy metal gauntlet that was too large for him: indeed, it fitted him awkwardly, as if it were not made for him..._

_He stepped into the warehouse. As he walked through the path, he became aware of faces staring at him on both sides. At a second glance, he realized they were wooden puppets, crudely cut mannequins. They were not unlike any other puppets one could see at a street fair or children's theater, but these had the most grotesque expressions on their painted faces he had ever seen. _

_Looking forward, many more puppets became visible. Their faces were diverse—joyful, sad, angry, happy, depressed—yet each of them held pain, as if they were forced into their numerous expressions. Each puppet was more realistic than the last: while the ones at the front were hardly chunks of wood, they continued to become more lifelike, growing arms, legs, hair, joints, and feet. How many he passed, he did not know, but as he neared the end of the corridor, he could barely tell whether they were puppets or humans. _

_At the end, he saw a short, silhouetted figure, hunched over a large table. A small candle illuminated a multitude of wood-working equipment, along with hundreds of paints and brushes. From it the quiet scratching sound of knife on wood could be heard, as well as the soft sifting as wood shavings drifted to the ground. The craftsman did not turn around, nor made any sign of of having noticed the boy's approach, yet he spoke: _

"_Soon, Gail, you will make a choice." _

_The craftsman stood and turned around, his entire figure shrouded by a heavy cloak. He held up his latest creation for Gail to see. It was still crude, but it had joints and was movable. The craftsman bent one of the legs, then let it fall into its natural position. _

"_A puppet like this has no will of its own. No matter how lifelike one of these are, they have no mind, no feelings. They cannot feel pain."_

_He raised an arm up and down several times, looking at it carefully. He seemed to find something distasteful with its construction, and made a displeased expression. _

"_The master has full control over the puppet. If something does not satisfy the master..." _

_In a sudden movement he snapped the arm off completely. Dropping it onto the ground, he snapped his fingers in front of the rest of the puppet, and flames burst from its head. He then tossed the puppet into a nearby barrel, where it continued to burn and crackle fiercely. _

"_It will be destroyed."_

_The craftsman turned around, choosing a new block of wood from a shelf above him. He sat down with an audible sigh. In an instant the darkness seemed to encroach a bit further, and the shadows seemed to become more malevolent. The table, craftsman, and candle seemed to fade into the distance as the shadows closed in._

"_The time of awakening...will be soon."_

_The darkness pounced, and Gail saw no more._

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><p>Kakariko. "Town of the volcano," they called it. The large town perched precariously on the mountainside, hundreds of feet above the earth below. Geographically, it stood at a focal point: the last major trade center before entering the Great Wastelands. Hundreds of merchants and caravans made their way here every year, trading and acquiring prized merchandise. On the largest of Kakariko's many Market Days, the crowds there could number in the tens of thousands.<p>

So much for trying to find someone in that crowd.

A lone mercenary stood in front of the front gate. The guard was glaring at his identification. Sure, it was accurate, but this tall, burly warrior-type figure seemed dangerous. The leather armor and poorly-hidden sword made him even more suspicious. He would make sure to alert the command post about this...

"Sorry for the inconvenience, sir," the guard said as he handed the mercenary back his permission slip. "Have a good day."

Entering through the main gate, the mercenary immediately found himself facing an immense sea of people from all sorts of backgrounds. People from every sort of country and race, selling and buying every imaginable item, massed together in the market plaza. Wily Calatian merchants, hawking rare Goron jewelry; Ordonian herdsmen, with their prized goats and cheese; famed Labrynnan chefs, enticing customers with exotic dishes and smells; even an elusive Zora mage, selling precious magic tomes and spell books. Colorful banners hung from tall posts, advertising all sorts of products and entertainment. The mercenary clenched his teeth as he judged the impossibility of his task...

"They said this would be simple," he muttered to himself. "Find the guy, deliver the message, and report back. But no...fate would have it otherwise."

His "friend" was said to be somewhere in the Northern Market District. Throwing caution to the winds, he pushed his way confidently into into the streets, and tried to make his way through. He tripped almost immediately. He tried to get back up, but was simply shoved back down again. He attempted to gain his footing, but bashed his head into a pillar. Before he could reorient himself, he found himself carried along helplessly in the crowd. Pushed on all sides by human walls, he found himself moving up a sharp incline away from the market district.

"_Curse the Goddesses," _he thought. _"I've got to get back down there!"_

He struggled to move back, forcing a path through with his strong arms, not caring about anyone in the way. He found a bit of a vantage point near an old fountain, so he waited there, shading his eyes from the sun as the crowds weaved around him. Twenty minutes of searching proved fruitless. He was about to move on, when...

"Look out!"

A runaway horse, eyes spooked with fear, came barreling through the market. A ramshackle cart, filled with crates of cuccos screaming bloody murder, came clattering behind it. The crowd in front tried to flee, but many were too late to avoid its mad charge. The horse whinnied, terrified even more, then lowered his head directly at the mercenary.

He hesitated one moment. The horse charged.

_SNATCH!_

A hand reached out and jerked him aside at the last minute. The mercenary hit the road hard, knocking him out of breath for a few moments. The horse continued its blind charge up the street, taking its screaming cargo away with it. The mercenary shook his head as he stood up slowly.

"_You've really got to stop abusing yourself."_

He turned to thank the man who had rescued him, but found that he had already gone back to his stall. The man had an unusual fashion sense, to say the least: a bright yellow performer's robe, and streaks of green pigment in his hair, complimented by the rather large silver and amethyst pendant around his neck. A dark cloak completed the entire outfit, which on anyone else would have seemed perfectly ridiculous, but seemed perfect for him...

But it wasn't the ludicrous outfit that seemed so strange, nor the strange block of wood he held in his hands, but rather at his unusually awkward movements. His eyebrows moved individually; he would make sudden, jerky movements with his hands; one of his arms would droop for long moments, then spring up again. It was unnerving, to say the least.

The mercenary forced himself to stop staring at the man's ludicrous outfit. He walked up to the stall. The man turned ever so slightly, a smile painted on his face. He extended his hand to his. "Welcome! I am the Master Puppeteer. Would you like to buy one of my puppets?"

"_Has he forgotten who I was already? This guy must be crazy...it suits him." _"I'd like to thank you for saving me back there."

"Hee hee...no need for thanks, Hadrian."

The mercenary was startled. "How did you know my name?"

"Hee hee...I know many things about many people, friend."

"Okay, now you're creeping me out."

Hadrian took a step away from the stall. The streets were emptier after the horse had passed through, but people were coming back to the street. He quickly scanned the stalls nearby: no sign of his target. _"Looks like I'll have to go back down..."_

"The friend you're looking for is to your left."

"Wah?" Hadrian whirled his head around. Sure enough, there he was...he would recognize that red cloak anywhere. "But how did you..."

"As I've said, friend, I know many things about many people." A marionette appeared in the puppeteer's hands, and did a little dance, clacking its heels on the wooden stall.

Hadrian shook his head. "I must be going. Thank you for your time."

"Hee hee...I suggest you hurry. And..." The last words faded out of hearing.

"_And someone is waiting for you. A dangerous fate rests in your hands. Hurry!"_

Hadrian jumped. There was no way he could have finished that phrase in his own head. Unless...

He whirled around. The stall was gone, and so was the Master Puppeteer. They had simply vanished, as if there were nothing there in the first place.

He reached for his hidden sword, fearing danger. His hand brushed against something unfamiliar tied onto his belt. He jerked, and a string snapped, letting it free.

It was a puppet. With crude limbs and no face, it was nothing more than a hunk of wood. But there was something more...magic was in the air.

He flipped it over, hoping to find answers.

A signature. A "M" and a "P," deftly carved, with a delicate, flowing script.

The Master Puppeteer.

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><p><strong>Read and review! Tell me if you're interested in seeing another chapter! I will review reply as well...perhaps.<strong>

**And if you're wondering at who the Master Puppeteer is...well, let's just say that he's somehow related to the Happy Mask Salesman. Go and read his description again, you may find something interesting...hee hee. **

**For your info, I tend to write how I think. And I imagine stories in individual parts, which may or may not be connected at first. So if some parts of this seem to be lacking something, they'll all fall together...but you'll have to keep reading! **

**-Goldenrhino**


	2. Chapter 2: The Three

**Hey, this is Goldenrhino. ****Thanks for reading! I normally won't update this fast, but I'll try for once a week? We'll see...**

**I'm actually afraid I didn't make myself clear in the last chapter...so there's some info you should know! ****This is not a Hyrule in the games. If anything, it's set many years after the games have ended. A couple hundred years in fact. And in a couple hundred years, things change: landscapes, technology...so yeah, it's much different.**

**The Master Puppeteer is my own character. But you should have known that already. You'll find more about him later.**

**Enjoy this chapter! And review please! With whipped cream and a giant golden rhino on top!**

**-Goldenrhino**

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><p>Murderer. Thief. Assassin.<p>

He remembered the days when he was feared throughout the land. Not because of his skill with the blade alone, but because he had mastered dozens of weapons during his travels. He had traveled to the farthest nations and crossed the widest oceans, hoping to find worthy combatants, but he was found wanting. Few dared to face him in battle, and even fewer survived the duels that followed. He was once an assassin by trade, but found the kills far and few between; so he took the path of the mercenary, fighting for the highest bidder, but in reality fighting to quench the blood-lust in him...

He was a dog then. A bloodthirsty dog. Even now, his blade hungered for blood. He drew his sword, tested the edge with his finger, licked the blood from his hands, felt the adrenaline rise in him...and then die. It was gone.

He sheathed the blade quickly and hung it next to his bed. He shuddered mentally.

Those days were over now...he was possessed then, and now he was free.

Thanks to _her_.

He owed a great debt.

He stared out a window, sweeping a lock of golden hair away from his eyes, blue as the ocean and just as deep...at last, he had peace in his heart. The world thought he was dead. Now, he could make atonement for the sins he had committed in his past life. And perhaps someday, he could meet _her_ again, and give proper thanks for the second chance he now had.

May the Goddesses have mercy on his soul.

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><p>Silently she watched from above as he made his prayers, bowing his head in submission to the higher powers that be. The sun hung low in the sky, casting its last few rays out over the city.<p>

She knew exactly who he was. Few others did so. Many who entered the Halls of Purification were often the most dastardly of criminals, seeking a place of sanctuary; yet out of mercy, the Mage Council granted them asylum and refused to allow any investigations on their pasts.

But she knew.

It was in those eyes. She had seen them but once, and she never forgotten. Then, they were but a cold void, completely empty beyond measure...it had haunted her for the rest of her life.

But now they were filled. No longer empty, instead they were filled with emotions that she thought he could never have: love, compassion, peace, joy...they were still blue, but somehow they were richer, fuller, deeper, in some sense. Something, _someone_ had changed him so utterly completely, that it was like meeting a brand new person.

Regardless, it was him.

She looked up again, and he was gone. She silently moved her left arm so that she could feel the cold, smooth metal that had replaced her right.

Could she forgive?

"Patience," she remembered her nurse saying, long ago in a city far away, "is the crowning characteristic of one of Royal birth."

She stepped out of her room, grasping the railing tightly. She had waited long. She could wait a little longer.

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><p>Gail wanted out.<p>

Time-shift capsules. Powerful relics of a more civilized age. When the first was created, no one understood if they had any purpose whatsoever. But eventually one was found...they were forbidden for the chaotic magic used in their creation, and all were destroyed. Except one, perhaps. The one he was in.

He probably deserved this fate. He had taken revenge into his own hands, murdered a bunch of people, and was found guilty. But why did it have to be here? And why did this dagger have to be stuck in his chest, burning endlessly with pain?

How long had he been here? One hundred, two hundred, five hundred years? A prisoner in a cell with no walls, with no constraints except this...void. In here, time stopped its flow. Anything within the capsule when it was sealed was contained in a stasis like state, with even the mind shackled. It made for the perfect dungeon: a prisoner inside could not get out, and needed no food or drink. Magic did not work inside. It was inescapable.

As long as it remained properly sealed.

He could feel the capsule weakening. Even when he was alive—because by all reason, he was now dead—he knew that such stasis spells never stayed at their full strength. Over a period of who knows how long, he began to regain some control in his prison. At first, it was in the form of dreams. Then memories returned. He still had no way to move his body, but he was still able to hone his magic abilities: ones performed using the power of the mind alone. When the spell had weakened further, he discovered he could channel his power into the fabric of the spell containing him, and feel the nature of time and space itself...

There was still no way to escape himself, but he knew that the spell was almost at its breaking point.

Gail wanted out.

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><p><em>"It is time. The Three are here. Will you continue to guide them?"<em>

That was all. No signature, no seal, nothing. Oh, the message was clear enough, of course (to him, not necessarily anyone else). It was from _her _again: she was taunting him. She had daring, he had to admit, but she was also foolish. And that, he knew, would lead to her own fate in the end...

The Master Puppeteer chuckled to himself. She knew so little, the poor thing. Drawing a scrap of paper from one of his pockets, he quickly scribbled a note back.

He handed it to the postman with a graceful bow. "I thank you for your assistance."

"It was my pleasure."

"The Goddesses do enjoy using us queer ones, don't you think?"

The postman laughed. He placed the note in his pocket and tipped his hat. Then he was gone.

The puppeteer watched as he left. "Things are not as they seem, girl," he murmured quietly. "The day you realize the truth will be the worst day of your life...as it was mine."

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><p><strong>I hope you realize that the first guy (you should know him) and the Puppeteer are both talking about the same 'her'. Just clearing things up. <strong>

**There's something else you should know. **

**I'm going to change the perspective of the games greatly in this story. Expect surprises. **

**There's something else you should know. **

**See that little button down there? Yeah? It says 'review' on it. Click it please. Constructive criticism appreciated. **Reviewers may get a sneak peak about _her..._tempting, eh? Unless you like surprises...****

**-Goldenrhino**


	3. Chapter 3: Eleventh Hour

**Welcome back! Many thanks for making it this far! I'm actually not too satisfied with the way this chapter flows, especially the first section, but it's alright. Next chapter may have a bit more action...maybe :P **

**Read and review!**

**-Goldenrhino**

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><p>"Hadrian."<p>

"Lord Simar."

It was hard to imagine a two more contrasted men: one, a wealthy nobleman from the upper classes of society—the other, a low-life mercenary. The two met conspiratorially in a shadowed corner, talking in whispers. The alleyway was dark, permeated with the smell of raw sewage.

"Please don't call me a lord, Hadrian." Simar's voice was soft, but still filled with urgency. "I'm...I'm no longer one."

Hadrian was visibly surprised. "What do you mean by that?"

Simar unclasped his cloak, decorated with a distinctive red crest. "You don't know the risks I took in wearing that...but you wouldn't have recognized me otherwise." He sighed as he tied it into a tight bundle. "The governor made up some trumped-up cause to invalidate my claim to my adopted father's inheritance—after five years, no less! He's been locking down my business ventures here, and his agents will soon finish off my foreign assets."

"Those bastards..."

"No." There was no remorse in his voice. "I have information that neither you nor your mercenary guild know. There have been rumors...rumors of war. The Mage Council is hard pressed: they cannot defend us forever. They say even the Sheikah are on the move...the governor knows that Kakariko will not stand an assault, and he wishes to protect this city."

"You justify his actions?"

"Perhaps I am." Simar smiled slightly as he dusted off a stray cobweb from his shoulder. "Let's not bring it up the subject again. You have a message, I suppose?"

"An offer. And a warning." Hadrian pulled out a scroll from his pocket. "You know too much: your presence itself threatens our existence. If you join us, I will lead you to them. If you do not...even as your friend, I cannot delay the Guild's justice."

"Do I have much of a choice?"

Hadrian shrugged. "I am only a messenger. Your fate lies in your own hands."

"Fate...that is an interesting word." Simar took the scroll, holding it in his hand. "I will consider your offer...if you humor me with this request."

"And what would that be, friend?"

Simar tossed a small object in the air, which Hadrian caught. "Take that, and tell me what you see."

It was a puppet. Wordlessly the mercenary took out his own, and put them side by side. It was as if they were twins.

"I received that not two weeks ago from a strange entertainer, in a city a long ways from here. He told me things about myself that only I knew, and he gave me a message—or half of one, he said. I asked for confirmation." Simar gestured to the puppets. "It seems like you have it."

Hadrian was speechless. "What...what was your message?"

"He said...'Go to the Wastelands. The land of shadows and living nightmares. I suggest you hurry...'"

"'Someone is waiting for you,'" Hadrian continued.

"_'A dangerous fate rests in your hands,'" _they finished together. The silence that followed was deafening.

"You can't suppose...this is just some freak coincidence?"

"When I was young, I didn't believe in deities," Simar said slowly, hesitating a bit with his words. "But this...this is not coincidence. I can feel it. Someone, something is there in the Wastelands...and someone wants us to meet them." He turned and look Hadrian in the eyes. "Will you come?"

"I...yes. I will."

"The Goddesses, or whatever greater being there is out there, have mercy on us."

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><p>The sanctuary was empty. Though the service had ended but an hour ago, not even the priestesses and holy men remained, long since returned to their warmth of their own homes. While the rest of the building was dark, the altar in front burned brightly with the light of a thousand candles, silhouetting the figure of a young man who had been kneeling there for hours.<p>

A woman stepped out from a shadow of a pillar, making no sound as she silently approached the altar. The man shifted slightly. His hunter's instinct allowed him to know exactly where she was, but he refused to move. She stopped at about ten feet away from him, her eyes burning into the back of his head.

"Link," she said, her words echoing throughout the chamber. He turned.

"If you have come seeking a place to hide, you came to the right place," she said, her voice full of anger and hostility. "The Mage Council grants asylum to all, regardless of their past, and they permit none to interfere with their policies..."

"You know who I am."

"Indeed." She took a firm step towards him and continued. "There will be justice for the crimes you have done."

"Have you come to bring it?"

She lost almost all her resolve at that sentence. That was not the voice of a bloodthirsty murderer...it was the voice of one who had seen too much: one who was utterly and completely weary of life. Had he gone mad? What had happened to him? She cleared her thoughts and drew herself up again. "Perhaps."

He stood, slowly, then turned to face her. He looked into her eyes, as if he could see into her very soul. "I have done you harm."

"You have bet you did..." she said through clenched teeth.

He felt a mass of metal strike his face, and he crumpled to the floor. When he finally cleared his head from the blurriness, he found himself a good two feet off the ground, a massive mechanized arm grasping him by the throat. The arcane magic powering it burned with a furious intensity. Her eyes burned with the same fury.

"You slaughtered my family in cold blood! A thousand others lay dead in the streets by your hand! You single-handedly killed off entire villages—New Ordon, Amaryllis, Perion—remember those names? You laughed as you sliced this," and the grip on his throat grew tighter, "off an innocent girl as if you were having fun! You're a murderer, a butcher of men! YOU'RE NOT HUMAN!" She was screaming with an intensity she did not know she had, seething with uncontrollable rage.

"Am I?" It was that same, tired, voice again...

She released her hold. He landed ungracefully on the floor.

Then Link spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "Things have changed, Zelda. You don't know what it's like, to be possessed by a spirit you cannot control. I was a different man then...I look back and am horrified by what I have done. Then a servant of the Goddesses saved me...but the crimes I have committed, they burn in my dreams; nightmares of my past. Some things cannot be fully healed..."

He began to get up. She offered a hand to help him.

"Redemption can come to the worst of sinners...and even the worst of sins can be forgiven. The mercy of the Goddesses is beyond comprehension. I have realized that...I hope you, in time, can realize that as well."

Then he was gone. She stood alone in the sanctuary, as the massive doors behind her creaked open, then closed.

"He knew my name?"

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><p><strong>Hopefully this made sense. I've been trying to avoid proper names just to build the suspense and mystery of the whole story, but I'm afraid I could be too vague...ever more reason to review and tell me!<strong>

**-Goldenrhino**


	4. Chapter 4: Awakening

**Chapter 4! Hopefully you all understood the exchanges that are going on...if you don't, tell me and I'll edit it. But of course, you have to review first. Review, review, review, review...**

**Chapter 5 might be slightly delayed a bit...I have some activities this week, so at the earliest it'll be Thursday, if not then next Monday. Boo.**

**I just realized how _short_ my chapters are. Or at least they seem short. **

**-the Goldenrhino**

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><p>"<em>All will be made clear, in time. Stop hiding behind the masks, and see the truth." <em>

That was all. Typical. She never expected anything longer from the Master Puppeteer. His messages were always so cryptic, never saying what he really meant to say. Then again, she worked the same way. When she had first met him, she felt he was his exact opposite, but as their meetings grew, she found there was much more in common than she had first supposed…

Why he chose the path he walked, she never knew. If she was hiding behind masks, then he was controlled by strings.

She brushed her hand against her bright red hair as she thanked the postman. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she said with a smile. She was always smiling: many thought it was unusual, almost creepy—but she had good reason for it. Was not every day was a blessing from the Goddesses? And should one not give thanks in all circumstances? She had been ordained to spread happiness, and she found joy and delight in doing so.

The postman laughed. "Indeed. Do you intend on sending him a reply? I must not delay."

She shook her head as she hoisted the massive pack on her shoulders more comfortably. "I will be meeting him shortly, I believe. May Farore give you swiftness on your journeys."

"The grace of the Goddesses shine upon you!" he replied. And he was gone.

She made her way out of town, weaving around the crowds gathered in the marketplace. The guard at the west gate gave her a slight wave, and she nodded in acknowledgement. She had done much in this town, and she would return here someday, but as for now…

It was time for the Happy Mask Salesman to ply her trade elsewhere.

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><p>"Ugh…help."<p>

The seal was breaking. A tiny, even miniscule slit appeared on the front of the time-shift capsule, shining glorious light into a long-forgotten chamber. Inside, Gail saw the void in front of him crack open, showing for the first time a world beyond the prison. The crack grew as the powerful magic holding the capsule together unraveled before his eyes, arcane ruins glowing brightly one last time before they faded into nothingness. At last the capsule shattered, revealing the prisoner inside, the remaining pieces scattered across the room.

He was free.

Gail collapsed on the floor weakly. He lay on the ground, breathing heavily on the cold pavement below him. Though he was still in pain, he was inwardly exulting. Freedom! To be at liberty once again…it was a feeling beyond comprehension. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. Strange, how he had missed even the slightest feelings. To feel even the damp, muggy air of the underground chamber, to touch the grimy stones underneath him, and to see _light_. He had been too long in the void, in those endless shadows.

He tried to stand, when a terrible, terrible pain struck him down again. His chest burned with pain, as if it were on fire. He slowly grasped the hilt of the knife sticking out of it, and jerked. He shuddered as the whole dagger came out. Suddenly, it was enveloped in a dark purplish flame, before it dissolved completely in his hands.

Now _that_ was unusual.

He stared down at his chest and found that the wound was wrapped in a glowing light, so intense it was hard to look at. The wound stitched together before his eyes, leaving a thin, glowing scab drawn across his chest. He felt a warm tingling sensation flow from the tips of his feet to the top of his head, followed by an outpouring of strength through his whole body…

Gail stood up, his limbs trembling from lack of use. The time-shift capsule—or what was left of it—was still glowing, but the light was growing dimmer, and soon the chamber would be enveloped in darkness again. He clenched his fist, and felt the surge of power and magic flow into his fingers. It was time to leave.

"_I pray this works…"_

A ball of energy grew on his fingers as he aimed upwards, towards the ceiling of the chamber, up towards the surface…

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><p>"Take one of these: it's not safe to go alone."<p>

Hadrian fingered the large, crossbow-shaped item that Simar had given him. "Are these..."

"Magic amplifiers? Yes." Simar fingered the trigger of his own, caressing it gently. "This particular variant is only given to elite Mage Council agents." It was a beautiful weapon: designed to be practical yet artistic, with flowing curves of metal that disguised its blunt and bloody purpose.

"I barely know how to work one," said Hadrian thoughtfully. He ran a finger along the meticulously carved runes, watching as they shimmered with an eerie blue glow. He pointed it skywards, pointing it at an imaginary target to test its weight. "So you just…"

"Press the trigger? Yes."

The ancient city loomed before them: the mighty gates shattered, the barricades broken, the walls scorched by fire. Inside, the ruins of a thousand homes and buildings lay before them, flattened as if a huge foot had just stomped on it. It reeked of death and unnatural shadows. They stepped through the remnants of a drawbridge that had once crossed a now-empty moat. A lone crow cawed in the distance behind them.

"Keep your eyes peeled," cautioned Simar. "The Necromancer's presence is still strong in this place. They say his army still lurks here, waiting for his return…"

"He's been dead for a hundred years now!"

"You can never really kill someone who's already dead, Hadrian…"

They continued on in silence as they entered the main section of the city, their footsteps being the only noises in the ruins of a once grand city. Frail skeletons of homes and storefronts overshadowed them from above. The pavement was littered with shattered stones and timbers. In front of them, a magnificent temple, decorations still visible, leaned perilously; beneath it lay pieces of its supporting pillars. Before their eyes, it quivered slightly, then toppled to the ground in a tremendous crash, sending ash and dust into the air.

"I don't like this place," Simar coughed as the dust cloud passed them. "We're getting out as soon as—"

A terrible scream pierced the air. Down the road, an animated skeleton stood with its back towards them. Sparse remnants of flesh hung off its limbs, and it clutched a long sword in its bony arms. It screamed again, louder than the first. From below, something rumbled underneath…

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><p>CRASH! "Ugh..."<p>

"Almost there."

Gail groaned as he picked himself off the ground again. For at least two hours he had pounded away at the rock and dirt on top of him with magic bolts, trying to make his way to the surface. At least he'd made some progress: his tunnel was about sixty feet long, and he guessed he was about thirty or so feet closer to the surface. Still, who knew how long it would be before he broke ground? He was tired: his energy reserves were at their limit. He sat down in the dark to rest for a bit.

He wondered how far he had been in the time-shift capsule. The chamber he had left had been sealed with heavy stones, so he assumed it had been a while. The fact was, time-shift capsules weren't meant to last long captivities: most prisoners locked inside were only put in temporary stasis. He hoped they wouldn't be surprised with his appearance…

"Or by my fashion," he chuckled to himself. He must be delirious or something. Here he was, in a pitch-black tunnel, wondering about how people's clothes looked two hundred years in the future. It must be the lack of oxygen in here. At least he wasn't dead yet, Goddesses be praised.

He stood up and charged up another bolt. SMASH!

This time the whole ceiling of his tunnel collapsed on him. He barely had enough time to throw up a shield: too much more of this and he would probably die of exhaustion. Fortunately, not a whole lot of debris fell, but it was enough: a slight opening emerged, with a dim ray of light shining directly through it. He scrambled up from the ground to examine the hole more closely. It looked as if he could fit through that: but only one way to find out.

Hopefully he didn't scare anyone when he emerged like a worm from the ground, if the massive explosions hadn't frightened them off already. He grasped the edge of the hole and pulled himself up, expecting to see the streets of Hyrule Castle Town above him…but he was in for a rude surprise.

Only ruins lay around him. The town had been destroyed, no, _obliterated_. Yet it wasn't recent: it was as if nobody had been here for hundreds of years…he stood up to get a better view, slowly turning around to grasp the full magnitude of the destruction around him.

_SCREEE!_

Gail whirled around, and then dodged as a monstrous Stalfos swung its blade at him. Without a moment's hesitation he charged an energy sphere and hurled it at the abomination. It gave one last dying scream before its remains were scattered on the floor. He'd been using too much magic: that little effort left him completely exhausted. He sat down on the floor, hoping to regain his strength before he totally collapsed.

What had happened to Castle Town? And why were undead in the streets?

That's when he realized that he wasn't alone…

* * *

><p><strong>I like ellipses...a lot...they can be overused though...<strong>

**This is fun. Creating a magic weapon that works exactly like a gun except putting it into a medieval context. Fun fun fun. More stalfos slaying in the next chapter! I hope the Undead Civil Liberties Association doesn't go after me...**

**REVIEW. **

**-the Goldenrhino**


	5. Chapter 5: Ruins

**Hey, person-reading-this-chapter! I know this is a very late update (it's been a month!), but I've been insanely busy, and also couldn't figure out a way to resolve everything well. In fact, I still don't like this chapter. I hate action scenes...**

**Hopefully the next update will come quicker...**

**Whatever, enjoy! And review!**

**-Goldenrhino**

* * *

><p><em>-The Archives of Lei: Of the Necromancer<em>

_Year 1463. _

_The Necromancer. A former magi and a once-powerful hydromancer, he was a founding member of the Mage Council, but wished to continue his own independent research. Turning his back on them, he disappeared into the Southern Forests, researching the dark arts. Since most practitioners had been killed in a series of purges dating back to the Twili Invasion, information was scarce: it took years for him to reconstruct even a basic shadow spell. Immersing himself in his work, he grew extremely powerful and corrupted, even finding ways to taint the purity of the water magic he once used…_

_During his studies, he found news of the mystical Triforce, artifact of the Goddesses. His hypothesis was that even such a holy relic could be tainted by shadow…giving himself ultimate control over the world. He raised an army of undead and cut a swath northwards through every village, town, and city that stood in his way…_

_The Necromancer stormed Hyrule Castle Town with his troops. The battle raged for days: thousands of men, women, and children died in the slaughter that followed. The king himself abandoned Castle Town with his family and attendants, leaving his people to die at the hands of the undead. Yet in the end, the Necromancer allowed himself to be captured by his former comrades, the leaders of the Mage Council. He then proceeded to overload the magic chains used to bind him, creating a chaotic shockwave that blew the city—and everyone in it—to shreds. _

_He had overestimated his own strength, and the Necromancer too was killed._

_But his curse remained on Hyrule…the city remains a ruin, and the land a waste…_

* * *

><p>"Aaah…"<p>

They were everywhere. At least twenty stalfos had suddenly materialized around him: hulking monstrous beasts, animated by deep and ancient magic, judging by the traces remaining on them. Most of them carried weapons of some sort: a few held ancient shields, and one even wielded a massive battle axe that must have weighed as much as he did. They formed a neat circle around him, glaring at him with their unblinking eyes.

And they didn't seem too happy.

"SCREEEE!"

"Oh crap."

Gail rolled sideways as the first one lunged his sword at him. The blade clanged off the pavement, barely missing him. There wasn't much else he could do. He was on the verge of collapsing: his magic reserves were completely exhausted. As it made another swing, he rolled again and managed to kick one of the stalfos's legs out from under it. It gave a horrific screech as it crashed to the ground, thrashing around wildly. Still, the distraction gave him enough time to heave himself into a standing position. He started running at a half-stumbling pace, hoping to get away somewhere, anywhere…

A shadow passed over him. He ducked instinctively, then found himself face to face with a stalfos that, in a feat of undead acrobatics, had somehow managed to leap over him entirely. It grinned nastily as it approached, swinging its sword in lazy arcs. Gail glanced back: the rest of the group was rapidly approaching. There was only one thing left to do…

He heard a distant "Now!" and before he could do anything, the stalfos in front of him disintegrated in an explosion of blue light. Gale shielded his eyes as fragments of undead blasted into his face.

A deathly shriek filled the air behind him. Gale ducked as a veritable storm of magic bolts hurtled past him, smashing into the charging stalfos and the ground at his feet. As dust and smoke clouded the air, he could barely make out two figures in the street in front of him, one of which was vaguely waving at him. He decided to take his chances.

* * *

><p>Simar calmly sniped a supporting pillar, watching the building above it topple onto at least ten stalfos at once.<p>

"I love these things."

"Damn these things!"

Hadrian growled in frustration as the shot from his magic amplifier ricocheted wildly into the ground, hitting nothing but dirt and stone. "You've got to wonder what this Master Puppeteer guy has to do with this," he muttered grimly to himself. "When I see him again…"

He shouldered the amplifier just as the boy collapsed at his feet. Dropping to one knee, he quickly examined him for any serious injuries. Satisfied, he scooped him up and deposited him on his shoulder. "Let's go, Simar!"

Undead were popping out of the streets left and right. While Hadrian kept up his blistering pace, Simar fired dual bolts at anything that moved. They dodged through the shattered marketplace, as a massive group of stalfos and stalchildren followed closely behind. The air was filled with the sound of thousands of ancient bones clattering on the streets, and the screeching of disembodied voices.

"Remind me never to do this again!" shouted Hadrian as he dodged the blade strokes of a stalfos that had just erupted from underneath him. He drew his blade and cleaved it in two in one swift motion. "How much further?"

"Turn left!"

It was all or nothing now. The ground itself seemed to betray them, as stalchildren popped out at random locations, making them stumble on the pavement. They were losing ground, fast, as the horde behind them charged. The gate loomed in front of them, just a couple more yards—

"Oh crap."

Several massive stalfos burst through the ground, easily twice as tall as the normal ones. The first one cackled hysterically, as the rest merely grinned silently, their eyes shining brightly against the shadows. And since when did it get so dark?

The first one sprang. Hadrian drew his sword, preparing to counter, but a bright light enveloped him and he was gone.

* * *

><p>It was raining in Kakariko. It was another freak storm, common during the summer. Only a few people remained in the streets, hurrying home with last-minute purchases. Shopkeepers hurriedly closed up, sliding panels, closing windows, scrambling to get their goods under cover. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, and the echoing thunder boomed. The rain sloshed in the streets.<p>

She gazed out over the walls surrounding Kakariko. The clouds in the distance were uncharacteristically dark. _Hyrule_.

Her cloak and hood were enough to keep her warm and reasonably dry, but she was tired, and she was feeling the cold. She wiped the wet hair from her eyes, glancing through the lighted bars and taverns that littered the streets, peering through the now-empty marketplaces.

There. The entertainer's stage was closed now, but behind it, nestled in a dark and shaded corner, was a familiar silhouette…

The Puppeteer.

She strode deliberately across the courtyard, weariness forgotten. He was sitting on some old boxes, a tarp shielding him from the rain, while he played with a marionette in his hands. While he showed no outward sign of regarding her approach, she knew that he knew…

"I'm sure you could've found better work than in a typical entertainer's troupe," she said, determined to gain the first word in. "You're obviously at a higher level than they are."

The puppeteer grinned as he smoothed back the hair on his head with one hand. "The Gorman Troupe is a nasty bunch, but they're among the best there is. Except me," he said, leaping up adroitly from the crates and smoothing out his robes. "Do you know where I can find a washing-lady? These mud spots annoy me greatly."

"Maybe you should wear something that's not bright yellow," she shot back. "Or at least find…wait. Gorman Troupe?"

"At last!" He gave a mocking bow. "That took longer than expected, mask-seller."

He swept back some stage curtains to reveal an old sign, written in a badly-scrawled script. The letters remained similar, but it wasn't Hylian…

"Termina?"

"Ah, so you do recognize that place. I was getting worried that you've forgotten it already."

"Impossible. The dimensional gateways between Termina and Hyrule were sealed ages ago."

"Regardless, they were reopened."

"I don't believe you."

"Do I have a reason to lie?"

For some reason, she couldn't, but she wasn't about to admit that in front of him. "I have to see for myself."

"Shouldn't be too hard," The puppeteer eased himself back on to the crates. He flipped open the cover of a barrel and fished out an apple.

"Why are you here in the first place? If it was for a message, I'll just say that the mail service is excellent in these parts," he said. He promptly took a bite. "And so is the fruit."

"Some things need to be said—or asked—in person."

"Mmmh."

"Where are you going? What will you do? Follow in the steps of your father…and his kin? To lead the world into another cycle of chaos and destruction?"

He paused mid-bite. Only the sound of the dying rain accompanied him.

"You know, for a little girl, you ask a lot of questions."

"I'm _not_ a little girl! And that," she said, calming down a little, "was the worst retort I've ever heard."

He gave a single, mocking laugh. "Honestly, you wouldn't understand if I told you," he said, ungracefully lobbing the apple core into the gutter. "Nor would you want to anyhow."

"Make your choice soon…"

"Hmmph," he said, glancing out into the marketplace, seeing that the rain had stopped. "As if I had any..."

The Puppeteer was interrupted when a stranger, obviously a troupe member, tapped his shoulder. The two exchanged a few words, before the other disappeared into the back of the stage. He looked back, gazing directly into her eyes. "The troupe's coming back: I have my duties. You, however, must find the answer on your own."

She nodded, slowly.

"Remember, Mask Seller...things aren't as simple as they seem."

"I knew _that_."

He flashed her a smile—a truly genuine one, something she'd never seen before. "If that's so, I'll be following the troupe. If you need me, you'll find me where they go."

A bow, a quick wave of the hand, and he was gone. The echoing sounds of a barrel organ filled the air, as the crowds began to gather again after the rainstorm.

She turned to leave. She had gotten her answer. It was time to continue on her path…

* * *

><p><strong>I still hate action scenes...<strong>

**I added the "Archives of Lei" section in the beginning to sort of fill in some information that would be too difficult to write in a story-fashion. It'll become more important as the story progresses...but it won't appear in every chapter.**

**Some of this stuff is going quicker than I wanted it to, so...it might take a while before I figure out a way to tie everything together. **

**Hope you liked it! Thanks to all for your support so far!**

**-Goldenrhino**


	6. Chapter 6: Chambers

**There's a little something called "finals" coming up soon. I tried to get this chapter out before then...but it isn't as long as the others, so hopefully after a while I can get this back up and running!**

**5/17 Edit: I added a four-line section at the end just for kicks...and as a note to say I'll be getting back to this, soon! **

**Enjoy, and review! **

**-The Goldenrhino**

* * *

><p><em>The forest. It was a world of dichotomies. To most, it was dark, uninviting, and mysterious: to others, it was a place of peace and solitude, where nature could be found in untarnished beauty. A forest springing with life, filled with plants creatures of every kind and nature: a forest of death, with untold secrets lost in the midst of its entwining branches and roots. <em>

_A forest of shadow. A forest of light. _

_How many, Link wondered, had lost their way and never returned?_

_He took his first cautious step into the woods. Then another. The steps became surer and more determined as he winded his way around massive tree trunks, disappearing completely in the underbrush before reappearing a distance away. After a couple minutes of walking later he looked back and found the entrance he had come from had practically vanished. He almost laughed at the helplessness of his pursuers. No one could find him in this forest, not when he was even losing track of himself. _

_He tramped on, feeling more confident in himself as the setting sun painted the sky a brilliant orange hue. Never mind that he was born and raised in a far-away city, in a world of metal and stone and cold: these woods, regardless of whatever anyone else thought, somehow made him feel at home. _

_Then a tree root stuck out and tripped him, once again reminding him that he was a stranger here, and the woods were not at home with him…_

_Night falls quickly in the forest. Before long, Link found himself wreathed in the shadows, with no way of telling where he was: he could barely see ten feet in front of him. He sliced out with his sword, clearing a path and hoping to drive any critters away with the noise. Something dark swooped over his head, screaming: he ducked, and then drew his bow and fired an arrow into its general direction. He heard the satisfying crash as the animal plummeted down into some bushes. _

_There. In the distance, a small but fiery light shone through the trees. He immediately stopped slashing, and stooped down to a crouching position._

_At first he thought it could be a lantern, but then the wind changed, and the smell of roasting meat reached his nose. He sniffed. To go or not to go?_

_His more feral instincts taking over, he stalked slowly towards the camp. Years of training meant that he could traverse even the dense forest floor without making a sound. Within minutes he was but a few meters away, watching the person sitting next to the campfire._

_A mere peddler. Pah. He sat on a stone, his back towards Link, with a tremendous pack on his shoulders. He was turning a few skewers of meat—Venison? Rabbit? –over the fire. Arrows wouldn't go through that pack, so no hope of a simple kill. Nevertheless, the sword had always worked just fine…_

_He swiftly crossed the few feet that lay between them, preparing to gut the man in two, but the peddler, having heard him in some way, merely swung his hand around and Link was thrown backwards into a tree. Stunned, he found himself lifted up into the air, as the peddler put down his pack and approached him. _

_It wasn't a he. It was a she. And when she glared at him with those bright red eyes of hers, he knew all too well…_

"_They" had finally caught up to him at last…_

* * *

><p>But he was wrong.<p>

Link sat cross-legged in the center of the little alcove he had discovered, high up in a lonely tower owned by the Mage Council. It was peaceful. None of the hustle of the busy marketplace below, or the muttered droning of the priests in the lower sanctuary: only the birds, and the light sounds of the wind. Here he could meditate in solitude…

Sort of. He found he could no longer concentrate, his mind wandering from prayer to events that had occurred more than a month ago. To the path that the Mask Salesman had given him, and which he would soon have to take…to his destiny? He was not sure. But things were stirring in the world, and chaos lurked in the near future…

Zelda. It was his duty to watch and protect her, so the salesman had said. But after that initial encounter, he had never met her again. She had taken steps to find him, sure, but always he eluded her. There was something different in her demeanor, something in her past that she refused to reveal that…frightened him, actually. He had spent quite a bit of time in the Archives, hunting down bits and traces about her past: for why would the royal heir of Hyrule be lurking as a mere mid-level adept in the Mage Council?

Well, now he knew the answer. Partially.

Would his vision always be so obscured?

* * *

><p>"Andrea Strongarm."<p>

She stepped forward onto the dais, and an intense shivering sensation of deep magic ran through her body. This ancient chamber was one of the few original structures crafted by the first Mage Council: the magic used in creating this room was so mysterious that even the highest level mages could barely understand it.

In front of her, standing tall in the dim light of the room, were three massive stone statues. They were carved in the likeness of the ancient founders of the Mage Council, long since killed in the Necromancer War. But in a spell that none had ever seen before, one of them, Baldus the Younger, sealed their essence into the statues themselves. And so they remained, their counsel and wisdom enriching generations of adepts and mages for years to come.

To be summoned by the Three was either honorable or terrifying. She was afraid it was the latter.

"Stay calm, young one. Relax your mind…"

On a similar dais next to her, a hooded figure sat in a meditative state. He was known as the Prophet: a revered mage specifically chosen by the Three, the one who channeled their powers and communicated their messages to the outside world. The runes on the statues shimmered gently as the Prophet watched motionlessly, his eyes seemingly boring into her skull.

She knelt down on the floor, shifting her mechanical arm uncomfortably. The stones were cold.

"_Child…the time has come…a time long in waiting…" _The voice spoke, booming within her head, though no sound could be heard in the chamber.

"_The Wasteland stirs…" _A second, lighter voice spoke, tinged with the slightest hint of aggression. Despite being dead, the Three still spoke with distinct personalities. _"The shadows that cloud the land have parted, if ever so briefly…" _

"_But a darker night is coming…and you must rise up to the calling…" _

"_You must go…" _The third and last voice was barely a whisper, and she strained to listen.

An ominous silence followed. For the longest time she remained on the floor in her kneeling position. The Prophet watched.

"What would you have me do?" she asked, unable to hold herself in any longer.

"_Child…" _

She raised her head.

"_Zelda…firstborn of Hyrule…your destiny has always lain in Hyrule…"_

"_Your choice to hide your identity was a futile one." _The voice was almost chiding and harsh in its rebuke. _"As long as you remained here, nothing could be hidden for long." _

"_Even so, it is well...that your true identity remained secret…from others" _

"_You must go…" _

"_Your ancestors…committed a great transgression on the people of Hyrule…" _

"_They abandoned Hyrule and left all of them to die, forcing us to intervene on their behalf."_

"_It is time…for redemption…to redeem the blood on your father's and grandfather's hands…to redeem Hyrule." _

"_You must go…"_

"_Find the one…you must find him…" _

"_Go to the southern forests. He will be searching." _

"_Find the one who seeks peace…for the blood on his hands…"_

"_You must go…"_

The statue's light dimmed down, and finally faded into nothingness. She remained kneeling on the floor.

"That is all the Three wish to say."

She still stayed there.

"You may go."

"_You must go…"_

The Prophet raised his staff, and she felt the familiar warping magic surround her. In a moment, she—Andrea or Zelda, she no longer knew who—materialized in her own rooms, finding herself completely and utterly confused by the Three's council.

The irony was not lost on her...

* * *

><p>The Prophet watched. Behind him, a single statue stirred to life again, flickering dimly in the twilight.<p>

_"Tell us, prophet...have we lost all ability to communicate in a non-mystical and comprehensible manner?" _

__The Prophet laughed. "Perhaps."

_"It is frustrating to have so much to reveal and to be able to say so little." _

__"That too."

* * *

><p>This Prophet guy is basically a physical extension of the Three's power: a link from their spiritual (and dead) realm to the physical one. Despite his relatively minor role, he's actually one of my favorites in this series. As is the Puppeteer, but he maywon't be showing up soon. That's just his way.

-**The Goldenrhino**


	7. Chapter 7: Night and Day

"_Night falls quickly in these parts. We are the farmers of the Deva plains. For generations our people have lived here, within the shadow of the Great Southern Forest; where danger lurks at every corner, and hideous creatures roam freely day and night. We may appear as mere peasantry to everyone else, yet here is the birthplace of the strong-hearted, for the weak only meet suffering in this place. Here all must struggle for survival, for the night strikes fear into every heart."_

"_And when darkness falls, the wolves come out to play…" _

–_farmer of eastern Deva, from the Archives of Lei._

* * *

><p>It was night in Deva.<p>

A single lantern cast flickering light around the small upper room, which was almost completely empty, while shadows danced furtively on the wall to unheard music. Hadrian shifted endless piles of paper on his desk in a futile attempt to organize them.

"To create order out of chaos is a task fit only for a goddess..." he sighed to himself.

Too bad he was practically the only one who could make any sense out of this mercenary paperwork, or else he could have long before gone to bed. Bounties had to be cashed, contracts had to be signed, shares had to be divvied, and the proper people had to be paid off. It was frustrating. Simar could have helped, with his expertise in business and finances, but he had gone to town early in the morning and wouldn't be back till the next day.

Familiar footsteps thumped from the stairs behind him, and the door creaked open. "Still working, boss?"

"Come in, Rav, and help me sort this ridiculous mess," replied Hadrian, not bothering to turn around. Rav walked in: a lithe young man with sleek brown hair, a ragged scarlet cloak complementing his laidback look. He clenched a rather ornate staff in one hand, and a small scroll in the other.

"How's the boy?" Hadrian asked rather abruptly: he was in no mood for small talk at this hour.

"Well…actually, not so well, but we're making progress," Rav replied, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. "He's going to be gaining strength back slowly over the next few days. Chilly in here, isn't it?"

"What's wrong with him, exactly?" Hadrian asked, handing him a sheaf of papers. "Incinerate these, please."

"It seems he simply exhausted his strength, but I've never seen a case quite like his before," Rav noted. He grasped the papers tightly, chanted a simple spell, and proceeded to dust off his hands as the papers burst into ashes. "He woke up an hour ago, muttered some unintelligible words, and dropped back to sleep again."

"Any idea on when he'll be up?"

"Possibly in a day or two. I've worked with patients like these before: once they start waking up they recover swiftly."

"Doesn't look like he'll be doing much after that though, huh…"

"Not for a while yet, sir."

Hadrian slid a stack of papers into a corner and sighed deeply. "It's been a week already. We haven't taken a bounty for longer than that. We've got half a dozen other mercs on our tail, and here we are dawdling our hours away! Even the farmers have been demanding more money to keep them quiet. We can't stay here much longer…"

"I'm sure he'll be up soon, sir."

"I know. But if he can't pull his own weight, we're going to have to let him go."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Hadrian tilted his chair up and yawned deeply. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

Rav gave a grim smile. "Well, about that bounty, sir…"

* * *

><p>Far above the ceaseless noise of the city, the upper chamber the Council had provided for him was quiet, except for the chirping of a few songbirds outside the window, and the soft murmurings of a desperate man. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he prayed with a furious intensity, almost trembling in his mental efforts. After a few minutes he stopped, shaking his head in despair. Normally he had no trouble concentrating in this room: nobody bothered him, and he bothered no one. It was better that way. Here, alone, he could find peace: a serenity unmatched by anything he had ever felt before.<p>

Yet today he was distracted. Again and again he had tried to maintain focus in his contemplation, but to no avail. He stood up and stretched. The air in the room felt different, somehow—filled with a strange tension, an aura almost, that he couldn't really distinguish. But something _was_ different. Feeling stupid for thinking such thoughts, he grasped a clean washcloth and proceeded to dunk his face into a bowl of fresh water.

Feeling relieved, he started over again: but a knock came at the door, and Zelda walked in.

She was dressed in a simple travel uniform (fit to the Council's modest standards on women's dress, of course), her hair tied backwards into a simple braid down her back. And she was not alone: a glowing fairy flew next to her, gently flying in graceful loops before settling on Zelda's shoulder. Link gave a quick glance, then turned around again. For a moment, there was silence as Link remained kneeling on the floor, his back to her, and she remained standing there, waiting.

"Is it polite to interrupt one's private prayers?" he asked, refusing to give her the benefit of eye contact.

She said nothing, but Link could feel her gaze burning holes in the back of his head.

"What brings you here?"

She said nothing. Link felt a gentle tickling from the back of his neck that soon escalated into a fierce burning sensation. "What—"

A sharp, unnatural edge pierced the skin, shedding blood. Several miniscule crystals materialized around it, combining into a dazzling orange gemstone, inscribed with a complex pattern of runes. Zelda reached out her hand for it, but Link seized it first to examine it.

"What…is this?"

"Your death warrant," Zelda replied, taking it back. "A Watcher."

"So. You've seen that I've nothing to hide." He spread out his arms as confirmation. "Go ahead, kill me. I've lived life with enough regrets," he said, without a trace of hesitation in his voice."

"I never said I was going to do anything to you."

"Why not?"

There was another moment of silence. "You're not yourself," she finally said, hesitatingly. "You're an assassin: a serial killer with no qualms whatsoever. You've been on a dozen killing sprees in the past five years. You've murdered every Council agent sent your way without a touch of remorse. Just a month ago, you were off butchering farmers somewhere in Labrynna—"

"Eastern Calatia," interrupted Link.

Zelda ignored him. "And then you came here: quiet, solemn, and devoutly _religious,_ of all things…you showed no signs of aggression, no rage, no nothing. At first I figured it was just a fluke—a trick, trying to catch us off guard, so I kept tabs on you...but now…"

"What are you trying to say?"

"You've changed."

"Quite."

"I…I can't kill you. Not now," she said, softly. "You're…healed. It's the only way I can explain it."

"_By the Goddesses, Zelda, what are you doing?" _she thought. _"Are you forgetting how your father died? And your mother? It was HIM! This filth, this monster, this vile, bloodthirsty vermin. How can you let go so easily? You have him in your hands, giving him mercy, but he'll still turn on you once he has the chance…what is this madness?" _

"_Everyone deserves a second chance," _she reasoned. _"Including him. It's what…it's what my father would have wanted."_

"Are you alright?"

Zelda opened her eyes, not having noticed they were closed. Link watched, bemused, as the fairy tinkled urgently beside her, glaring. Obviously, she cared little for these strange human affairs.

"I'm fine."

"Fate likes to drop strange things at one's door. I simply happened to stumble upon redemption."

"I'd like to believe that."

"Good."

Zelda untied a small scroll from her belt and slipped it into his hand. "I came to bring you this. You might find it important."

Link unrolled it and read:

"_Wanted dead or alive: Link Varonis, more widely known as the Shadow Slayer. Wanted for the horrific massacre of Perion, and countless other crimes. Young man, no older than 30; slim, with blond hair and blue eyes. Highly skilled with a variety of weapons: do not underestimate or attempt to apprehend alone. Whereabouts unknown. Bounty is 50,000 gold coin or equivalent. If seen, alert the Mage Council for additional reward." _

"Your 'death' did not last long. It appears you're a wanted man again."

He frowned, momentarily, and his brow furrowed with just a hint of anxiety. The scroll crumpled with a loud crunch.

"I assure you that the Council won't give you mercy," she continued. "But you are not mine to kill…so I leave it to you to decide on your own fate."

"Where are you going?"

"South. I've my own business to attend to. Take care of yourself…Link."

She stepped outside. "May the goddesses have mercy upon you!" she said hurriedly, before disappearing from sight.

He stood there for the longest time, staring down the open door, where her footfalls still echoed down the long stone hallway. He glanced downwards for a moment at the scroll in his hands, then back again.

"_You're…healed," _she had said. _"It's the only way I can explain it."_

"Perhaps…that is the best way." he murmured softly.

He closed the door. In a moment, he had returned to his prayers, but with a new purpose in mind. The Shadow Slayer would rise again.

* * *

><p>Labrynna was a land of wealth and prosperity, and their culture reflected this fact magnificently. Their architecture; with fine marble designs and grand open spaces: their fashion, the very epitome of elegance and beauty; and their exquisite cuisine, famed for its unique spices and bold flavors. Through their ports came a steady stream of goods and valuables, and through heavy but calculated taxation the government diverted a generous amount to themselves, but returned the favor by spending massive amounts of gold and manpower to create an enviable state of peace and harmony.<p>

Few bothered to question what the government was doing with the _rest_ of the resources they acquired.

Above the skies of Labrynna lay the Dark Tower. It had been built consecutively for many centuries (a reasonable guess), but no one knew the original architect or even when it was first in construction. It went against everything the Labrynnans appreciated: it was dark, constricting, and quite ugly, with no attention paid for design. Regardless of complaints, the government refused to demolish it: rather, they added to it, noting that it would be a shame to halt such a great work.

Often, residents who lived near the towers reported seeing mysterious shapes traveling through the air, blotting out the night sky and casting strange shadows on the ground; but these incidents were rare, and quite a few of these witnesses were known as complete nutjobs in their respective communities, so no one paid much attention anyways…

"But we think otherwise…which is why we're here, Pa'em."

Pa'em nodded at his mentor as they huddled together in a deep forest thicket. "You'd think they'd have more guards here, Master Nhior," he noted in a soft whisper.

"They might," acknowledged Nhior, "But that would've attracted too much suspicion."

Behind them, their mount snorted loudly, before lifting a lazy wing and scratching itself with a particularly wicked claw.

Together they watched as the moon slowly climbed up into the night sky, as the last remnants of the sun slowly set.

"Let's go."

In a moment they were in the air, soaring noiselessly over the Labrynnan forest between the wings of a dragon. "Up, Baikon, up!" muttered Nhior grimly. They shot up into the sky past the cloud layer, watching the Tower shrink below them. The apprentice looked down for a moment before clutching his stomach.

"Pa'em. Look down…there."

The apprentice gulped.

"I don't see anything, Master."

Nhior flicked the reins, and the dragon swooped downwards. "See that?"

A monstrous shape loomed at them, more than seven times the length of the dragon from head to tail. For a moment they watched in silence as it floated upwards silently and swiftly, with no noises to reveal how it was moving. Tiny flickering lights—torches, perhaps—moved erratically along the top part of the mechanical construct, and as they drew closer they could hear a few muffled voices from below. Before Pa'em could get a better look, Nhior jerked hard on the reins and pulled away.

"What was that?"

"An airship," murmured Nhior. "Larger than any we have ever seen before. This is a monster."

They moved in a little closer and made another pass, swooping under the bow of the ship. Several large cannons were clearly visible jutting out from the sides of the ship, the sparse light glinting off their polished metal.

"Are we heading back now, Master?" Pa'em asked, as he felt the contents of his stomach lurch yet again. "We've gotten what we came for."

"Soon, soon. I just want to—"

The last thing Pa'em heard was the explosion as a cannonball slammed into Baikon's side, and his own screams, as dragon, master, and pupil hurtled through the air; down, down, and down…

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, an update? I've been busy, I apologize, and to be honest since school's started I probably can't add another one for awhile. Then again, if you actually want another chapter, I may just work up the time to write some more. <strong>

**Goodbye...for now. **

**-Goldenrhino**


	8. Chapter 8: Tinder

**I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I had hoped to put this up a month after school started, but it just didn't happen...as you can clearly see. Writing is hard, especially with work piling up and assignments to do and jobs to look for. But I'm surviving, so I had time to put this up. Enjoy this slightly-longer-than-average chapter while you can...**

**Review pwease! :) You will have my undying affection. Well, no. **

* * *

><p><em>The Archives of Lei: on the Dragon Lords of the North. <em>

_Little is known about the strange relationship these wild, primitive people have with dragons, most ferocious of beasts. For generations they have been fighting, capturing, and taming various species of dragons, and using them with devastating effectiveness in war. Each tribe, of which there are many, remains almost completely distinct from one another, with their own individual customs and traditions. Combined, their numbers may lie in the thousands, though each tribal group may only consist of a hundred or so persons. Once every few years, the tribes gather together to discuss pressing issues as a whole: however, these gatherings have rarely ended in agreement. Such fragmentation has led to huge power struggles in the past—few of which were observed by outsiders, but all primary witnesses record massive, breathtaking battles as both man and beast clashed together with iron and flame. _

_In recent years, the Dragon Lords have been fearfully eyeing the imperialistic expansion made by Calatia and Labrynna, as they believe that the traditional boundaries of their lands have been breached. Inter-tribal relations remain tense, however, and it appears that a strong, capable leader has yet to show. Any information beyond this is mere speculation: should developments arise, appropriate corrections shall be made to this entry._

* * *

><p>Many called it the "Great Council." To Lord Irae, it was merely a farce.<p>

He sat in the shadow of the tent (the only thing here, he noted, that could possibly be called "great"), nibbling at a few delicacies. An hour ago, fifty lords from fifty tribes had gathered here in relative amity, attempting to proceed with peaceful negotiations. Now, it had turned into a massive shouting contest, as fifty madmen argued around the massive fire in the center. Oh, right, it was forty-nine—not two minutes ago one had been stabbed in the leg and carried out by his servants, all the while screaming ridiculous obscenities at his assailant. He was almost pleased at the incident, as for a moment there was shocked silence in the room. However, the tension had flared up as hot as ever, accusations and threats flying back and forth like a flock of birds in the air, and tell the truth he was not sure which one was more disquieting .

No wonder, he mused, that the Dragon Lords no longer held respect in the eyes of their adversaries.

"My lord looks concerned," came a voice from behind him.

"Aewyn. You needn't have come." The two clasped hands.

"I will not desert my lord in this chaos."

"Aewyn," he stated flatly, as if he had had this discussion before. "You are _not _a servant. We grew up together, we played together, we hunted and trained together. And as a friend—"

"As a friend I do as I see fit."

"Suit yourself." Irae shrugged and motioned for him to sit.

"You see this madness?" he said, gesturing with his hand. "All of them, squabbling about like nagas fighting over an eel. How long have these meetings devolved into this? Are there no men in the tribes? Does no honor remaining? No dignity? No respect?"

He put his head in his hands. "I don't understand how father managed to mediate this…rabble."

"Your father…was truly a wonder. There is no one I ever respected more. I never knew his reputation had spread so far."

"His shadow is long. I fear I cannot escape from it."

Aewyn rested his hand comfortingly on Irae's shoulder. "You can continue his work."

"I don't know if I want to."

Together they watched as the arguing continued endlessly. The subject had long since shifted from the topic of tribal negotiations to that of who had slapped the other with the broiled mackerel. Meanwhile, two lords were scuffling on the floor, tearing at each other's throats: two more had drawn their swords and were madly exchanging blows with each other. The stage was set to escalate into an all-out brawl.

"My lord, I think it's time to go," Aewyn noted, flinching as the remnants of a shattered pot whizzed past his face.

Irae sighed. "I don't think I should've come in the first place."

They left the tent in silence, leaving the mob behind.

* * *

><p>He woke up and saw white. But no, it wasn't quite that. It was something…less, as if anything actually could be less. Something vacant, devoid of any existence whatsoever. The emptiness stretched on and on, without an end in sight…<p>

He knew this feeling. He'd been in one for the longest time.

For a moment he was unsure if he had only dreamed, and he was still imprisoned. But this felt different: the magic flow sustaining the void were pure and strong, not the deteriorating energies of the time-shift capsule, weakened through centuries of aging. Opening rifts in space-time was no easy task, even for an advanced magic user, requiring an immense amount of skill and power to activate…

Both, he realized, he now possessed.

He released a burst of magic around him, watching the brightly colored energy ripple out in ever widening circles. In such spaces, there was only one point of weakness: the source, where the creator of the rift could maintain it. There would be a point of interference, some anomaly…

"Oh, I wouldn't bother with that."

He felt a disturbance behind him as the rift opened ever so slightly, letting in a slim man wearing a ridiculous yellow outfit, a tint of green in his hair, and a ridiculous smile plastered on his face…

"Not that it wouldn't work," the stranger noted, "but I assure you I've made this rift as tight as I can. You'll be let out soon enough."

"Do I know you?"

"Well, it has been quite a while…but questions later." He raised a hand, sending a gentle stream of energy flowing through Gail's body.

"You're the…Puppeteer?"

"Hmm. Seems like more leaked through the last time…"

The Puppeteer summoned a swirling sphere of energy in his palms. "This will hurt," he said, before suddenly thrusting the orb into Gail's chest.

The pain was furious. His eyes burned, his chest felt extraordinarily heavy, his fingers stung as if a thousand pins had been jabbed into them. He nearly screamed in anguish but the only thing he could manage was a weak groan. He collapsed to his knees in agony, feeling the pain pass.

"What was that for?" he asked finally, gasping for breath.

"Stabilization of the time rift," the Puppeteer said nonchalantly. "Time-shift capsules were never truly meant for long-term use, you know, and once the device started deteriorating the field began to disappear. Out there," the Puppeteer made a sweeping gesture, "your body has been fluctuating rapidly between various ages, so I simply fixed a more steady point as to not frighten everyone else out there when they blink and you suddenly age 50 years."

"…and exactly how much of that was complete and utter nonsense?"

The Puppeteer laughed, clapping his hands. "Well done! Finally, someone who actually understands me. Most people just listen when you feed them big words…"

"Why are you here, Puppeteer?"

"To kick start you back into the world. The time-rift thingy was just one part which, by the way, was almost completely accurate. Things have changed dramatically during the time you've been imprisoned—"

"How long?"

"Pardon?"

"How long have I been in that thing?"

"About 500 years." He paused to let the words sink in. "I suppose I should let you go through the typical process of bemoaning the loss of your family and friends"

"Everything I cared about was already gone."

"You're actually taking this surprisingly well."

"_You _seem like you've seen this before."

"Oh, believe me, when you've been around for as long as I have you've seen _everything_." The Puppeteer chuckled. "Perhaps you'll have an easier time adjusting than I thought. Most people can barely handle the emotional distress of even a few years. Why, I met once met this fairy kid who—"

"You were going to explain to me how things had changed in 500 years."

"Uh, no. That's not how it works." The Puppeteer glanced at him with an almost condescending glare. "The thing that happens with protagonists is that we send them on a massive scavenger hunt—questing and what not—scrambling about to piece together their hopelessly shattered lives, while I observe their frantic actions. It's more fun that way, you know?"

"Don't expect you can play games with me…"

"Funny. That's all the world is anyway."

The Puppeteer snapped his fingers, and Gail felt the rift shudder. "Regardless, I look forward to watching you out there."

"Oh, I bet you will…" Gail grumbled to himself.

And he was gone. The rift trembled once more, and the world went white.

* * *

><p>"What can you tell me of the situation in the forest, Aira?" Zelda asked the fairy as they walked down the stairs to the Council's stables. There were few good horses to lend nowadays, but fortunately they wouldn't need one: Deva was relatively close compared to other missions she had been on.<p>

"It looks grim, my lady," the fairy replied. "About three months ago, we began losing track of fairies near the outer limits of the forest. This normally wouldn't be too surprising, as we lose a few every year, but they kept disappearing faster and faster…we've lost over forty total: not many, but enough."

"Have any of them come back?"

"One. Two weeks ago, there was a sudden storm over the forest. He was traveling with a group of others. He remembers being grasped by a malevolent force, darkness all around, the screams as his friends disappeared...after that, we knew that there was someone, _something_ out there to get us."

"How did he get escape?"

"We don't know. He's a strong one, Vavir…never seen him so spooked in my life."

"One moment," Zelda interrupted, leaning over to roughly shake a man snoring in the hay. "Useless lazy son of a misbegotten…Talon! Wake the hell up!"

"Err-hwah! What in tarnation!" The rather rotund master of the stables rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Eh? You looking for something?"

"I ordered a horse earlier. Hope to have had it by now…"

"Oh, yeah!" Talon scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Daughter's got it out back. It's a good 'un, not our fastest, but you know with the situation nowadays…"

"Speed doesn't concern me, but I hope it has good endurance," Zelda said as she thanked him.

"And that it doesn't smell so bad…" Aira giggled. "By the Goddesses! Do these things stink!"

"Hey!" came an indignant shout from the stable master, who had just settled back down again.

"That lazy ass…I'll make sure to supplement the Council budget for the stables when we get back," Zelda reassured, and the two laughed together.

"Phew! Anyway, so after Vavir's story, we've been keeping near the Great Fairies for safety, and we haven't had any more incidents since. Whatever it is, it won't go near them."

"Anything other strange happenings in the forest?"

"Not that I know of." Aira shook her head sadly. "That's why I came here, to see if the Council could give...well, council. They didn't know anything. But they sent me you!" Her face brightened tremendously.

"Glad to see that I'm appreciated," Zelda laughed.

The door to the stables lay ahead. A young girl stood by the entrance, holding the reins to a white horse, stroking its neck. The horse nickered softly as they approached.

"…you are Andrea Strongarm?"

Zelda nodded. Aira raised an eyebrow.

The girl helped her mount, while the fairy decided to settle on the horse's left ear. The horse snorted, showing the faintest sign of disapproval.

"Can you ride with that…hand?" the girl asked gently, with genuine concern in her voice.

"Well enough. He won't be hurt."

"Dareon will get you far…" the girl said, caressing his muzzle one last time. "He's been with us for a long time…a shame to see him go."

"Not many come back, do they?"

"Oh, the riders make it back fine enough," she stated, almost indignantly. "As for the horses…"

She disappeared into the darkness of the stables, but turned back for one last word.

"Do what you must. May the Goddesses bring you…and him…a safe return home."

* * *

><p><strong>Sadly...I can't give you a guarantee on when the next chapter goes up :( maybe a month, maybe two, maybe never? *gasp*<strong>

**Feel free to PM me and...erhum...'encourage' me to write more (as in make loud and obnoxious death threats). **

**-The Goldenrhino**


	9. Chapter 9: Alone in the Night

Hadrian sat.

He had always enjoyed rocking chairs—beyond reason, everyone else told him, but there was something delightfully enjoyable to be found in the simple motion of rocking. And what better time to relax then now, during the sunset? The last few rays of daylight poured in through the open window, and the evening breeze freshened up the room. A few birds fluttered by, silhouetted by the setting sun. He breathed deeply, taking in the scene all at once.

The only downside to rocking, he supposed, was that it made him feel like an old man. Then again, he wasn't quite as young as he used to be.

It was good to be alive.

"I must thank you," came a voice from behind him.

He turned to see Gail, sitting up and staring blankly at the sheets.

"I…I can remember some things. The ruined city. The undead…and their screams."

Hadrian fingered the puppet in his pocket.

"What's your name?"

"…Gail. Gail of Dragmire."

For a moment, Hadrian faced the window, his eyes closed in thought.

"Do you know what it feels like to be possessed, Gail?"

He turned again, glaring with barely-contained ferocity.

"To have your body twisted, your thoughts contorted, your mind shackled by an overriding will? To be led around like puppets, prancing into oblivion without a care in the world? Do you think," he grimaced , pointing an accusing finger at Gail, "that Simar and I would've gone into the goddess-forsaken ruins of Hyrule of our own choice?"

Hadrian grabbed him by the collar to stare deep into his eyes.

"Once we stepped through those gates nothing was of our doing. I still don't know exactly what happened there, and I reckon I don't want to. I've seen things in that town that no man on the face of this earth should ever, _ever_ be forced to witness. We've been through hell and back, all for your sake—and the sake of your guardian, who is a mighty cruel fellow to force us mere mortals through such things."

He let Gail slump back into bed, fished in his pocket for a moment, and flung the puppet into Gail's hands.

"And if you see a man with green-tinted hair and the eyes of a devil, peddling his little puppets in town…tell him Hadrian won't forget what happened there in the Wasteland."

He stalked out of the room, leaving Gail alone in the twilight.

* * *

><p>Quality over quantity, they said. But why not both?<p>

Out of all magic known to this realm, fairy magic was surely the purest available. And it also happened to be somewhat accessible. He had quite the collection already: so much, in fact, that he could feel the raw essence pouring out in a torrid stream, charging the atmosphere in…brilliance. It was the only way to describe it.

So why in the seven hells couldn't he use it?

In that lone forest glade, Vaati pondered his situation. Magic came in many forms. One would react negatively to another—which was why a pyromancer could never hope to learn the secrets of manipulating water. Perhaps fairy magic ran contrary towards his wind magic?

But no. Wind magic was known for its flexibility in any situation: he should have known that most of all. So then what was it?

He spent the afternoon skimming through various books and tomes he had brought with him, to no avail. It seemed that no one had ever done a proper analysis on the subject, and none recently either. Every description continued to point out the "purity" of fairy magic and how "consecrated" it must be, containing the essence of sacred beings.

Could it be that the fairy magic was reacting to his…not-so positive intentions? He put down the book and pondered for a moment. He _had _considered it, but he could've sworn that by disconnecting the magic from an active consciousness the issue was resolved. Perhaps the magic itself held some sort of sentience in and of itself, which would create different issues…

Well, the solution was somewhat clear: he required a channeler. Someone who could utilize fairy magic, and would feed it to him—willingly or not. But what sort of being had the ability to master fairies?

…A great fairy.

Oh, this would be a challenge.

* * *

><p>"BytheGoddessesthiscityistremendous!" Aira exclaimed as she fluttered in excited circles around Daeron who, judging from his dissatisfied expression, was less than happy about that fact. "Iwasn'treallypayingattentiongettingherebutnowIcan seeeverythingandit'sallsowonderfuland—"<p>

"It's been the largest city this side of the Wasteland for quite a while," Zelda explained from the ground. She had dismounted, focusing on getting through the crowd without trampling anyone. "The presence of the Mage Council makes people feel more confident, I suppose."

"I'veneverseensomanypeopleinoneplaceever!"

"Aira?"

"OhlookisthatapotionsellerI'veheardthattheysellext ractfromtheforestIwannasee—"

"Didn't you already see all this on the way here?"

"Heylookthatguyplaythatweirdboxitsoundssonicewhati sitheyareyouevenlisteningtothemusic—"

"Not exactly, no."

"ISTHATAJUGGLERILOVEJUGGLERSLETSWATCHTHEJUGGLERHE' SGOTKNIVES—"

"Aira! Calm yourself!"

"Oh. Uh…" Aira sheepishly settled down somewhere behind Daeron's ear who, judging from his dissatisfied expression, was less than happy about that fact. "Sorry. It's just that OHMYGOSHLOOKOUT—"

Zelda heard the unexpected crunch of porcelain meeting hoof as they narrowly avoided stepping on a young girl who had accidentally stumbled into the street. The straps holding her pack together had snapped, and the contents had spilled out onto the ground.

Zelda was quick to help her up. "Are you alright? I am so sorry about everything—here, let me help you…"

The girl glanced downwards, and Zelda noticed what had broken. It was a mask—painted in an enchanting green, decorated with exquisite markings. She knelt down to pick up a shard, examining the handiwork. Even though it was shattered, the beauty of it was incredibly enchanting. It was obvious that this was the work of a true master.

"Well, are you going to pay for that?" came a voice from above her. The girl was smiling. Perhaps she wasn't particularly annoyed.

"Oh…yes, of course," Zelda replied, reaching for her pouch. She sighed, realizing that she may not have brought enough to cover this expense. Such a mask could be quite expensive…

"I wouldn't worry about that."

Zelda turned around to see the mask, fully repaired, being handed to her. The girl smiled and shrugged. "A gift."

"…wait, what?"

"You might need it," the girl stated, picking up her pack, which somehow had everything arranged again. "Remember, Ms. Strongarm, that if you hold on to the broken, the beautiful cannot be restored."

And with a quick bow she was gone, vanishing into the crowd.

Zelda flipped over the mask, realizing that it _wasn't _actually complete. There was a single piece missing. The piece that she held in her hand.

She slipped the shard and mask into her pouch, before grasping Dareon's reins. "Come on, Aira. We've got a lot of road to cover today."

"Oh…ok," Aira said somewhat timidly. "That was kinda _weird_."

"More than that."

"Ohheylookatthathit'samilkbarwhyisitcalledabarwhen it'smilkcanyougetdrunkonmilkifyou'relactoseintoler antIwanttofindout—"

Zelda ignored her, lost in her own thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10-1: Something New

**I wrote this chapter on a whim. I've always liked this story and hated to see it just hanging there. My writing's improved, so deal with it. **

**I'm also going to try updating more with shorter updates but more regularly. **

**-goldenrhino**

* * *

><p>"Seriously? A 'chance' encounter in the street? How more cliché can you get?"<p>

The Mask Seller sighed deeply as she turned herself away from the accompanying wagon and stared at the stone-ridden roadway below. There was a time when she wouldn't have hesitated to respond to the Puppeteer, but today she was so tired that she simply didn't care anymore. There were reasons she was taking the long, hard, bumpy road to Holodrum, and not simply warping there; even basic magic would be difficult at this state. Thank the Goddesses the Puppeteer was never particularly confrontational.

"About as 'chance' of an encounter as us meeting in this caravan, I suppose," she noted after a long pause, leaning back wearily against the side of the wagon. "I don't think you've come to simply critique my techniques."

The Puppeteer leaped up onto the back end of his own wagon precariously, looking peculiarly like a pigeon perching on a rooftop. His already gaunt look had apparently gotten even thinner, his yellow robe a little faded, and his face…was that a scar?

"I've been away from these parts long enough that I've been missing out on the news!" he said excitedly, finally finding his balance on the wagon and staring at her with curious intensity. "Tell me, how has the wondrous, golden, goddess-blessed land of Hyrule been fairing recently?"

"You've been away for, like, a day."

"We don't need to argue semantics," he chuckled, almost falling off in the process.

"Well, it was a lot better when you were away…"

"Ha! That's the mask seller I know!" He shifted his grip as the horses swerved around a bend in the road. "Why are you heading to Holodrum anyway? Trying to prevent some apocalyptic end-of-the-world scenario? Or has some new villain appeared that can only be stopped by your direct intervention?"

"Indeed, the worst of villains!" she laughed, smiling for once. "A dastardly craftsman in Horon by the name of Sakon has been copying some of my father's work and passing it off as his own."

The Puppeteer's playfully looked on in shock. "He didn't!"

"Well, he is," she insisted. "And he's quite talented too, that bastard. When word of his work came to me, I took it upon myself to go and…dissuade him."

"That's terrible!" he said, shaking his head in mock disgust. "He's worse than I am."

"Maybe you should take notes," she replied with a smirk. "How's the troupe? Did they appreciate you gallivanting off randomly to the Dragon Lands?"

"Didn't even notice I was gone." He grinned, producing an apple from his pocket and began chomping on it. "You want one?"

She nodded, and then deftly caught the apple he tossed at her. "Tell me some details, and I might return the favor before I fall asleep."

He jumped onto her wagon and settled himself down beside her. "The Dragon Lords are still discussing whether to negotiate or wage war with Labrynna. Their dragons are, as a whole, more level-headed and better smelling than their masters. I suspect that these discussions will last for a few more months before completely dissolving into chaos."

"Who's leading the discussions?"

"No one. They're just yelling at each other," he said between mouthfuls. "To be fair, there was one of them who…well, pity your duties only have you guarding the destinies of Hyrule. There's a lot of interesting people in the world; people who'd suit your cause well." He smirked as he chucked the apple core away. "Your turn!"

"Hyrule itself is rather stable, though there was a disturbance in the Wasteland not too long ago that I'm convinced _you_ had a hand in," she began, as the Puppeteer chuckled softly. "The Mage Council is nervous. They've offered to help speed negotiations as they're not eager to see a war. Neither Labrynna and Holodrum are strong enough to take on the Mage Council alone, but together…"

"Now, let's not get into a discussion about supply chains and logistics and military tactics—"

"Rumor has it that Labrynna has perfected their airship technology."

He raised an eyebrow. "Come to think of it, a Dragon Lord and his apprentice disappeared a few weeks ago. I wonder…"

"Probably. This changes things."

"Well, it'll be a more interesting war, to say the least," he said, leaning back contently. "Anything else?"

"Fairies are disappearing in Faron Woods."

Second eyebrow raised. "Two surprises in a day? You're on a roll, Mask Seller."

She laughed for the first time that day, genuinely amused. "I do my best."

"I might just have to pay a visit to the Woods, then." He said, standing up to stretch. He shuddered in mock horror. "Too spooky for me, ha!"

"…oh, just shut up."

And surprisingly, he did. He sat back down, and while she nodded off he watched the sun set slowly in the sky.


End file.
